


all the things that you do in the name of what you love

by Valery_Snowflakes



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014), Coco (2017)
Genre: M/M, Marriage Proposal, also kinda hinting at angst but it's not really, anxious hiro, busker miguel, i suck @ tags but this is good trust me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-19 17:33:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13709310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valery_Snowflakes/pseuds/Valery_Snowflakes
Summary: Sometimes it’s nice to look back and stare in awe because, yeah, they’d done that. Even after everything that could’ve gone wrong, they went against the voices in his head and they did that. And it’s nice to think about it, sometimes.Sometimes it isn’t that easy though, and he still wakes up covered in cold sweat and frantically searching for a pulse in the body sleeping next to his because there was once a time where he couldn’t feel one.Alternatively known as where Hiro realizes his boyfriend isn't the same frightened teenager he used to be back when they first met, and it doesn't feel as odd as it should.





	all the things that you do in the name of what you love

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to [Sapphire S](http://sapphiresterreart.tumblr.com/) and [Axu](http://axureerheeid.tumblr.com/) for helping me out with this one-shot! They were really helpful in helping me correct all those things I would've glanced over otherwise. <3  
> The original idea for this was way more different than what this ended up being, but I'm quite proud of the result nonetheless! I hope you enjoy this, if you do please let me know as comments always brighten my day. <3
> 
> Title's from Fall Out Boy — Church

There’s a boy he likes.

  Miguel has tan skin and short, brown hair that almost reaches his ears but not quite. He’s immature, carefree, an early bird and so, so fucking talented.

  The way they met — Hiro doesn’t think about that often, mainly because recalling everything properly would also mean recalling what happened before, and that’s not a story he likes to remember.

  When he talks about calloused fingers and guitar strings he doesn’t talk about the threatening text messages that had led them to encounter. He talks about dishevelled chocolate-like hair but he doesn’t talk about the terrified, wide open mocha eyes. He talks about love sonnets and a romantic evening out in the park but he doesn’t talk about the gut wrenching adrenaline of having to escape said romantic evening because if he doesn’t fly then he’s going to have to fight, and God forbid he ever has to fight in front of Miguel.

  So yeah, he doesn’t like having to remember his abusive ex and all the things that had to happen in order for him and Miguel to meet, he doesn’t mention how terrified he was to catch the bus home the first couple of weeks after they’d broken up, doesn’t mention how nervous of roping the young Mexican boy into all this mess he was. He only talks about the street busker and how his music made him feel at ease, he talks about how Miguel’s lips felt against his and about how their bodies seemed to fit perfectly together when they cuddled. He takes the whole psycho-partner-after-me part out of the equation.

  Still, Miguel does like bringing it up from time to time, because it wasn’t nowhere nearly as traumatizing for him as it’d been for his boyfriend. But that’s okay, Hiro thinks, sometimes it’s nice to look back and stare in awe because, yeah, they’d done that. Even after everything that could’ve gone wrong, they went against the voices in his head and they did that. And it’s nice to think about it, sometimes.

  Sometimes it isn’t that easy though, and he still wakes up covered in cold sweat and frantically searching for a pulse in the body sleeping next to his because there was once a time where he couldn’t feel one. Sometimes he goes to sleep a little too late because there’s the nagging possibility of someone breaking in again and hurting Miguel and he can’t stand it, doesn’t want to deal with it, so he stays awake until the sun cracks through the blinds and even then he has a hard time falling asleep.

  But Miguel is always there, smiling and singing and maybe one day Hiro will stop worrying about the day he’s not going to be there, and that seems like a nice possibility to look forward in the future.

  Hiro likes Miguel because he is always listening, always caring. He talks to Hiro in a way no one ever did before and even if he doesn’t get his boyfriend most of the time he sure goddamn tries.

  So it’s not that bad to sometimes be unaware of where his boyfriend is or what he is doing, even if there’s always that voice at the back of his mind insisting that something’s bound to go wrong, and that somehow he’s going to lose the love of his life and he’s not going to be able to do anything about it.

  So it’s really not his fault that his mind immediately jumps to the worst case scenario when he receives a call from an unknown number at three am, when his boyfriend was supposed to be out with friends.

“Hello?” He whispers, trying to sound as calm and collected as possible. Truth is, he’s dying inside. “Who’s calling?”

“Are you Hiro Hamada?” He gets as an answer, the voice comes from someone he can only assume to be a young lady, and his stomach sinks.

“Yeah that’s me. How’d you get my number?” He can heart his heartbeat pumping in his ears and by this point he’s already out of bed and trying to locate his keys on the nightstand without turning the lamp on.

“Your boyfriend’s fucking wasted,” she says, and Hiro can perceive some amusement in her tone. “We’re outside the New Era bar at Chump Street, do you think you could come pick him up?”

“God yes, thank you for calling,” he’s already bolting out of the door and trying to work how to open the door of Miguel’s car. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Okay,” and that’s the last thing Hiro hears before she hangs up, but he tries not to think too much about the situation as he starts up the engine and opens up the garage door.

 

  He sees Miguel half an hour later, the Mexican boy seems fine despite being the exact opposite of sober. He’s leaning against a wall casually, like he’s trying to pretend he’s not as wasted as people think he is. In front of him there is a teenager girl with wavy, ginger hair, and Hiro assumes that she’d been the one to make the call.

 “Miguel!” Hiro yells, sprinting towards his boyfriend.

“Hiro!” He’s smiling, completely unaware of how stressed his boyfriend had been. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be asleep? It’s so cold out here!”

  Like if on cue, the air gets a little bit chillier and Hiro’s reminded of how underdressed he is. One of Tadashi’s old graphic tees and his shorts suddenly make him feel like he’s walking around naked.

“Then help me stop freezing and come get in the car,” Hiro orders, and Miguel pouts.

“But I’ve just made a new friend!” He protests, and Hiro turns around to look at the girl who’d been standing there next to his boyfriend for the last thirty minutes.

  She’s pretty, with a round face and a little taller than average. She has pink lips and dark eyes.

“Thank you for looking after him,” Hiro breathes, offering her a smile as Miguel snakes his arms around his waist. “I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done if something were to happen to him.”

“Don’t worry, he’s really talkative, made my night,” she dismisses them both with a hand gesture. “Now go put him to sleep, you look like you’re one second away from hypothermia.”

“That’s because I probably am,” Hiro makes a mental note to ask Baymax for a scan on both him and Miguel when they get home. “I’ll take it from here, don’t worry.”

“Make sure he sleeps upside down, I wasn’t there but it looks like he’s had quite a few,” she says, and Hiro nods. “Well, adiós, Miguelito. Pórtate bien.”

“No prometo nada,” replies the Mexican, and Hiro is tempted to elbow him in the ribs. Is it considered abuse if your drunk boyfriend is being an ass? “But I’ll try.”

“Okay, nomás no hagas sufrir a tu pobre noviecito, si vino hasta acá como pendejo a esta hora es porque te quiere bien,” they both exchange a knowing smirk and she walks back to the bar in complete silence, and Hiro watches her until she’s behind the doors and out of view.

  Somehow Hiro manages to wrestle a very, very drunk Miguel onto the passenger’s seat and drive him home safely without the aid of a seatbelt. The city is quiet at this hour, he almost appreciates it.

“Are you mad?” Miguel asks, playing with the loose strands of his button up. “I’m sorry if it got a little bit too out of hand.”

  And Hiro knows Miguel isn’t exactly what you’d call a lightweight, but this is the first time they’ve managed to have a serious conversation while one of them is way past mildly drunk.

“I was worried,” Hiro confesses, grip tightening on the steering wheel.

“You always are,” Miguel says, but there’s no malice in his voice, it’s more of a statement. The sky is blue, the grass grows up and Hiro is always worried.

“That’s because I care about you,” the traffic light changes from red to green and Hiro breathes out.

“I know you do,” Miguel has rolled down the window and he sticks an arm out temptingly, and Hiro needs to resist the urge to tell him to not take his limbs out of the car. It’s late, there’s nothing near and they’re safe. “Sometimes you worry so much, you’re actually quite loud when you’re thinking. It makes me sad that I can’t grant you peace of mind.”

“Your presence is calming, believe it or not,” and that’s true, his anxiety isn’t kicking as hard as it had been an hour before. “It has never been my intention to make you sad.”

“I know it isn’t,” and maybe it’s the alcohol but Miguel looks wiser, older somehow, and Hiro is knocked back into reality. This isn’t the same boy he met back when he was eighteen and frightened of the outside world, it’s been a decade since that fateful night on the subway that brought them together. They’re both older, taller, maybe not more mature but definitely wiser. “I just wish I could help you somehow.”

“Sometimes I forget that you’re actually twenty six,” Hiro says instead, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. “It’s weird, you have changed, but your effect on me hasn’t.”

“Is that supposed to be something bad?” And truth be told, maybe Miguel isn’t wasted. He doesn’t look sober at all, but he’s definitely not wasted, either, and something inside Hiro shifts. This isn’t the same boy that would be done with after two shots of tequila, and this moment right here proves it. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to give you anything else. But maybe, we could try and…”

“I don’t want anything else but you,” Hiro says, trying to remain calm. “It’s not a bad thing, not at all. I just… sometimes I forget you’ve grown. You’re not sixteen and scared shitless about performing in an actual stage anymore. I like that, you’ve changed but you still make me feel human, I mean.”

  There’s something hiding in the silence and Hiro doesn’t know what it is but it doesn’t feel threatening so he lets it be. He keeps turning blocks and seeing buildings pass by as his boyfriend hums something he can’t quite place and it feels good because this is normal, this is human, and sometimes Hiro gets too caught up in between blueprints and metals to realize that he’s not a machine but a human, and that he’s allowed to be one.

“Should we get married?” Miguel asks in a fragile whisper, and time seems to stop. The Mexican boy swallows as he forces himself to believe this isn’t crazy. Maybe nervous, but he’s allowed to be. A little bit nervous and madly in love and mildly drunk and maybe a little bit nuts but…

“Okay,” Hiro breathes, and maybe Miguel does, too, he isn’t sure. “Yeah, okay, that sounds good. Let’s get married.”

“Really? Well, yeah, okay.” His heart skips a beat and suddenly he doesn’t feel as crazy anymore.

“Okay,” Hiro repeats, smiling slightly. His eyes are still trained on the road but Miguel knows him well enough to know that he’s just as incredulous as he is.

“Okay,” and maybe he was smiling, too. Maybe they both were, or maybe there wasn’t a need to smile because it wasn’t like this wasn’t going to happen anyway. “Yeah, okay.”

  Miguel rolls the car window back up and watches the lights slowly go out of focus only to regain it later on for as long as it takes them to arrive home.

  His eyes are fixated on his fiancée from then on.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Adiós, Miguelito, pórtate bien_ means "Goodbye, Miguel darling, behave."  
>  _No prometo nada translates_ to "I can't promise anything."  
>  _Okay, nomás no hagas sufrir a tu pobre noviecito, si vino hasta acá como pendejo a esta hora es porque te quiere bien_ is something along the lines of "Okay, just don't make your boyfriend suffer, he coming all this way like an idiot even at this hour means he really cares about you."


End file.
